


You Found Me

by missbecky



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Angst, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-03-22
Packaged: 2018-03-18 22:48:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3586881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbecky/pseuds/missbecky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thought of everything that waits in their future, all the things they're going to get to do together, makes Eggsy happier than he's ever been. Because he'd thought he had lost Harry, but instead he found him, and nothing's ever going to be the same again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Found Me

**Author's Note:**

> With many thanks to [HumanTrampoline](http://archiveofourown.org/users/HumanTrampoline/pseuds/HumanTrampoline) and Melody for all their feedback, and for flailing with me over my happy new fandom.

"This ain't that kind of movie," Valentine says, and fires.

It's a one-in-a-million shot, certainly never to be duplicated. A faulty weapon, perhaps, or a faulty shell. Either way, the result is instantaneous. The slug impacts Harry hard enough to whiplash his head back and knock him straight off his feet. He lands on the ground, hard, and then just lies there.

Still breathing. Still alive.

Time seems suspended. He can't move, can't do anything except lie there and bleed. The pain in his head is excruciating. With what's left of his rational thought, he thinks desperately that he must lie still, he must pull off the greatest deception of his life.

There are sounds coming from far away, his hearing not up to par after the gunshots and explosions inside the church. Maybe footsteps. Muffled voices. Harry twitches and tries to control his breathing. But it's no good. They're coming back, and he is fucked. His reprieve, his stay of execution, if you will, has only lasted seconds.

Another sound. Definitely footsteps. Someone is approaching, and it doesn't matter how still he lies now, because his body will betray him. Dead men don't bleed.

"Hey boss!" calls a voice, and he knows then that the game is up.

He would like to go out fighting, make a play for the bodyguard's gun and kill them all, but he can't. The pain in his head is too much. That pain is the whole world. There is no getting control of it. He can't move. He can barely even remember to keep breathing.

A shadow falls over him. He wishes he could open his eyes, but the left is full of blood and the right won't work. He knows he has only seconds left to live.

And what he thinks then is that in a life filled with regret, his biggest mistake isn't something he's done. It's something he didn't do, something he'll never get the chance to do now. Words he'll never get to say, and a young man he'll never get to love. 

"Well, well, well," murmurs a female voice. "I didn't expect you to be this resilient."

 _Neither did I,_ thinks Harry, and is powerless to control another twitching of his hands and feet.

Voices confer a short distance away. Harry tries again and again to open his eyes. After an endless time, he just barely manages to slit open his right eye, but the bright sunlight stabs into his skull so agonisingly that he actually makes a little sound then, a breathy groan that falls feebly into the day.

"Fine then," Valentine says. He sounds cross. "Bring him. I guess we can use him to find out more about this Kingsman group." He sneers the name.

So he gets to live after all.

****

Time gets funny after that. Everything is reduced to five-second soundbites, mere blips on the radar. Voices speak words that have no beginning and no end. Light and shadow exchange places with sickening ease.

The only constant is the terrible pain in his head. He's aware of being moved, because the pain grows so much worse then, making him retch helplessly with it. And that in turn makes everything hurt so badly that he wishes he could just pass out.

And so he does -– for a little while at least. All too soon he's awake again, trying to reach up and cradle his head, thinking if he only knew what was wrong with him, he might be able to do something about it.

He doesn't get far before he realises they've bound his hands. Even now, they aren't taking any chances with him.

It's almost flattering, in a way. Harry wishes he could live up to their expectations.

Right now, though, he'll settle for just living.

****

Eventually all the moving around stops. Harry gets one glimpse of a dazzling array of snow-capped mountains, and then that too is gone. He's picked up and jostled, and it just hurts too much, so he gives in to unconsciousness yet again.

His final resting place is definitely underground, judging by the thick stone walls, but beyond that, he can't determine anything for sure. The room -– cell, really -– is small, containing only a bed, a table and chair, and an even smaller bathroom. They lay him on the bed, still fully dressed, still covered in dried blood, only some of which is his own, and then they strap him down.

They don't torture him for information. There's no need. Gazelle stands over him, her dark eyes holding no pity as she tells him that he can have drugs for the pain and some water -– just as soon as he starts talking.

Harry looks up at her. He's not afraid. He's been here before, his life hanging in the balance, his own choice determining his fate. It's the same now as it was all those other times.

"I'm afraid you're in for a rather long wait then," he says. 

"Okay," Gazelle says with a shrug of one shoulder. She doesn't sound remotely put out. "But you might not want to wait too long. Once the new world starts, everyone's going to be pretty busy around here. It might be a long time before anyone comes by to check…on…you." She punctuates each of the last words with a little tap of her hand against his cheek. The contact is brief and light, but from the pain it causes, she might as well be swinging a sledgehammer at his skull.

Harry shuts his eyes and struggles not to vomit.

Gazelle walks out, and the cell door closes. He hears an electronic lock engaging, then there is no sound but his own ragged breathing.

He has to get out of here. Valentine knows too much about Kingsman. He won't learn more from Harry, but most likely that doesn't matter. The damage has already been done.

And if Kingsman is in danger, that means Eggsy is in danger. Even if the young man's ties to the organisation are severed, Valentine will remember seeing him in the shop with Harry and hunt him down. He isn't safe now.

He's got to take Valentine out. That much is clear. He doesn't know how he's going to do that just yet, but he knows he'll figure something out. He always does.

First, though, he has to get out of this room. He has to get in touch with Kingsman.

And he has to warn Eggsy.

****

The Swedish princess is more than willing, and Eggsy certainly isn't averse to what she's offering. But as he's reaching for his glasses, he feels a pang of guilt. Cutting communication with Merlin now feels wrong somehow, and not just because the man just saved his life. Multiple times.

He knows what Merlin would say to him right now. More importantly, he knows that Merlin would be right.

So he stops, and he leaves the glasses where they are, settled on the bridge of his nose like they belong there. He sets the champagne bottle down and he looks at the princess. "I'm sorry," he says. "I really am. But I gotta go."

Outraged, she rolls over and glares at him. "You can't just leave me here!"

Eggsy gives her a faint smile. "I won't," he says. "I'm not. But you're not the only one being held here." He remembers hearing them as he walked past their cells, all those men and women calling out in anger, demanding to be released. They're the ones who defied Valentine but who he deemed worthy of living, the ones who don't know how lucky they are.

He has to set them free.

He straightens his suit jacket, trying to recover his dignity. Not that he had much to begin with, but hey, he's gotta start somewhere. "I'll need your help," he says.

"With what?" asks the princess. Now she looks intrigued.

In his ear, Merlin says, "Eggsy." He sounds kind of weird, like he's just come off a coughing fit, his voice all high and tight.

"Yeah," he says, instantly alert. He can think of a couple reasons Merlin might sound that way. None of them are good. He figures some of Valentine's people must still be out there, intending to finish what their boss started.

"Eggsy, get out of there," Merlin orders. _"Now."_

Eggsy obeys without hesitating; after everything that's just happened, doing anything else is unthinkable. He hurries out into the hall, only to discover he's not the only one out here. Already way ahead of him -– as always -– Merlin has unlocked the cell doors, and Valentine's prisoners are emerging.

"Cell 221," Merlin snaps in his ear. "And hurry, for fuck's sake!"

Eggsy breaks into a run, ignoring the questions being called at him by angry and confused celebrities and politicians. Some of them he recognises, but others are strangers to him. "What is it?" he asks. " _Who_ is it?"

"I can't believe it," Merlin says as Eggsy skids around a corner. He nearly runs into an older woman, veers around her, and keeps going.

The door to 221 is open, but no one has stepped out yet. Eggsy slows to a walk and approaches cautiously. He pauses long enough to pick up a gun from a fallen guard's hand; the weight of it fits his hand perfectly.

He whips into the doorway, weapon aimed low, and freezes.

It's Harry. Alive. Still in his suit and tie, covered in blood. He's down on one knee beside a narrow bed. His left wrist is attached to the headboard by the wide strap of a hospital restraint, and he's scrabbling at the buckle, trying to get it off. He's an absolute mess, dried blood on his face and hands, his hair stiff with blood and hanging in his eyes, a sickening gash across his forehead. But he's alive, he's _alive,_ and Eggsy's heart leaps in his chest.

Even as he calls out Harry's name in joy, Harry realises someone is standing there. With the same lethal grace he displayed in the bar and again in the church, Harry pivots on his knee, snaps his wrist forward, and presses something on the side of his watch. A dart flies across the room, straight toward Eggsy.

If his aim were true, Eggsy would be in a lot of trouble just then, too shocked to dodge out of the way. But as Harry turns to face him, he loses his balance and falls against the wall. The dart goes wild and strikes the doorframe just inches from Eggsy's face. It clatters to the floor and rolls a short distance before stopping, for a moment the only sound in the room.

"Eggsy," Harry says, and then he's out, slumping against the wall, only the restraint about his wrist keeping him from landing face first onto the floor.

"Fuck," Eggsy breathes. "Oh fuck, oh God, _Harry."_ He throws himself to his knees and slides the short distance between them. He fumbles for the restraint with shaking hands and undoes the buckle.

With nothing to stop him now, Harry drops, unconscious. But Eggsy is there to catch him, gathering him up into his arms and holding on for dear life.

"Merlin," he gasps. "I got 'im. What the fuck do I do now?"

"Just hang on," Merlin says, as if Eggsy needs to be told that. "I'm on my way."

That's good then. There's a bunker full of angry and confused people, a hell of a lot of guns just lying around for the taking, and a whole _hell_ of a lot of dead people with their heads blown off. And right now Eggsy doesn't give a fuck about any of that. Let Merlin handle it.

All he cares about is Harry. Finally in his arms, like he's wanted for so long, but in the worst way possible.

"I got you," he says, because he doesn't know what else to say. "It's gonna be all right. You'll see."

Harry doesn't respond. He just lies there in Eggsy's arms, so still he might already be dead, but for the slow rise and fall of his chest.

Eggsy pushes a lock of blood-stiffened hair off Harry's forehead. He can see a hint of bone beneath that horrible gash left by the bullet, and he turns away, sickened.

Harry doesn't move, doesn't even flinch as Eggsy carefully shifts so he's in a more comfortable position. Harry's heavier than he looks, all lean muscle beneath the ruins of his suit, but Eggsy doesn't care. He just leans back against the wall and cradles Harry's head to his chest, and he holds on with everything he's got.

"Don't you die," he whispers. "Don't you dare. Don't you fucking dare."

****

There is a small bedroom in the rear of the plane. With Merlin's assistance, Eggsy manages to get Harry onto the bed there. He's nearly done in by then, starting to feel the effects of his fight with Gazelle, and he lets go of Harry with a relieved grunt, his arms aching and his back on fire.

Harry's head bounces off the pillow as he lands on the bed. He comes awake then, his eyes fluttering open briefly. He makes a pained sound, more whimper than groan, but only once, before he clenches his jaw and falls silent.

Once is enough, though. Eggsy's stomach ties itself in knots. Shit. Shit _fuck._ The last thing he wants is to hurt Harry.

Still. Harry is awake, although he's got his eyes tightly squeezed shut now. Hardly daring to hope, Eggsy leans over the bed. "Hey," he says. "Harry."

Slowly, carefully, Harry opens his eyes, and looks up at him.

Eggsy grins. He can't help it. The sight of those warm brown eyes looking up at him is the greatest thing he's ever seen. Harry looks like shit, shell-shocked and obviously in pain, but he's alive. He's here and he's _alive._ Eggsy watched him die in glorious technicolor and surround sound. But somehow, impossibly, he's here anyway.

"If this is your idea of sorting things out," he teases, referring to Harry's last words to him before leaving for Kentucky.

The joke doesn't work. Harry stares back at him for so long that Eggsy starts to feel real doubt creep in. Maybe that bullet scrambled Harry's brains, after all.

Then Harry says with painful effort, "Don't think… this lets you…off the hook."

Eggsy's grin breaks out again, brighter than before. 

"Wouldn't dream of it," he says.

**** 

Back at HQ, there's a lot that needs doing. For starters, they need to establish that no one in Kingsman had their head blown up. They might have saved the world, but there are an awful lot of power vacuums in the world now, and a lot of crackpots who are eager to fill those vacuums. The Kingsman agents are almost immediately thrown into duty.

Not Eggsy, though. Technically speaking, he's not an agent. An argument could be made that he isn't even allowed on the premises. After what he did in Valentine's bunker, no one is stupid enough to actually make that argument, but still. They could.

Roxy finds him a couple hours after their return, already on her way out to somewhere classified she can't tell him about.

"Merlin says to stay put," she says. She looks anxious. "Will you be all right?"

"Sure," Eggsy says. He's already called his mum and made sure that everything is okay at home. He doesn't mind staying here. The longer he stays, the greater the odds that they'll just go ahead and officially make him an agent.

Besides, somebody has to take care of Harry.

*********

"For God's sake," Harry snaps, "I don't need a bloody nursemaid."

"Excuse me," Eggsy says, completely unrepentant. He's sitting in the only visitor's chair in the room, shoes on the floor, feet tucked under his bum. "You were shot in the head."

"Yes, well, I'm _fine,"_ Harry says, impatient and stubborn and despite everything, still devastatingly handsome.

It really isn't fair, Eggsy thinks. Harry's been shot at, stabbed, and soundly thrashed, and all that was even before Richmond Valentine shot him in the head. He's bruised and battered all over, so stiff he groans every time he gets out of bed and shuffles painfully across the room. Right now, though, he's sitting up in bed, glaring stonily at Eggsy. A wide bandage is affixed on his forehead, covering the hideous wound left by the bullet that should have killed him. He's wearing a dark grey dressing gown over crisp white pajamas, but he's unshaven and his hair is lank and unwashed. He's tired, cross, in pain – and he's still the only person Eggsy wants to be with.

It's only been two days since what happened in Valentine's bunker. Three days since that awful moment when he seemed to see Harry murdered right in front of him, when his whole world came crashing down around him, and all he could do was scream in helpless denial.

It's going to take a lot longer than three days to get over that sight.

"You need to rest," Eggsy says, knowing full well that this is the last thing Harry wants.

"That's the last thing I need," Harry retorts, just as Eggsy knew he would. He's bored and restless, wanting to get back out there and help Kingsman as they try to keep the world from blowing itself up. He's nowhere near physically ready to return to the field, but even if he was, he would still be sitting here, impatiently waiting. After all, as Merlin has tried to explain, he had only been recovered from his coma for a couple weeks before getting shot in the head. There's a ton of medical tests he has to pass first before anyone will sign off on his return to active duty.

"Yeah, but Harry," Eggsy says, trying to sound reasonable. "You almost died."

"But I didn't!" Harry snaps.

"But I thought you did," Eggsy says quietly.

Immediately Harry's expression softens. His lips part and his shoulders slump a little. "Oh, Eggsy," he sighs. "I'm very sorry you had to witness all that."

Eggsy looks away. He knows Harry isn't just referring to his apparent death. It's the first time either one of them has even indirectly mentioned what happened inside the church. Merlin has told him that there's some question of how much of that day Harry remembers; head injuries can be tricky. For Harry's sake, Eggsy hopes he doesn't remember a thing. It's bad enough that the images are forever branded on his own brain. He doesn't want Harry to have to live with them, too.

But all this isn't something Eggsy particularly wants to think about, so he quickly changes the subject. "You know what would make you feel better? It's like when I been sick and all. You just need a good hot shower and a shave."

Harry purses his lips in displeasure. "You're absolutely right, of course. But I can't." He gestures to the bandage covering his forehead.

"Oh," Eggsy says, and feels stupid, because he should have known that. Only something like medical necessity would keep Harry from looking his best. Even in hospital.

Not that Harry looks bad now, he thinks again. Despite everything.

It _really_ isn't fair.

An idea occurs to him then, something so brilliant and simple that he feels like he deserves a medal just for thinking it. He's so pleased, in fact, that he just blurts it out without even pausing to consider the consequences. 

"Well," he says, "I could always do it for you."

Harry stares at him like he's grown a second head. "I beg your pardon?"

"I could, you know, um, help and such," Eggsy says. "If you wanted." He's suddenly not sure that this is such a good idea. He offered because he wanted to make Harry feel better, but now that it's out there, he's got to face what it actually means if Harry says yes.

But Harry won't. Eggsy is certain of that. Stubborn independent Harry won't say it. Of course he won't.

Harry's expression is blank, his gaze somewhat distant and unfocused. For several long moments, he is very still. But at last he looks at Eggsy. "All right," he says. "Yes. Thank you, Eggsy."

And Eggsy knows then that he is well and truly fucked.

Because the thing is, the thing he hasn't let himself think about in days, the thing he really should have thought about before he made his generous offer, is that he very much wants to do those things to Harry. He wants to stand naked in the shower together, water pouring down around them while they take turns soaping each other and then rinsing off. He wants to take the straight-edge Harry has insisted he should use and gently tip Harry's head back, then scrape the blade along the line of his throat.

But not like this. Not because Harry is too hurt to do all that for himself. He wants to do it for fun, in a posh bathroom where the towels are sinfully soft and two martini glasses rest on the counter. He wants to do it because it's something they do together, something they enjoy.

And he wants to do it because he wants to touch Harry.

Christ, he _really_ didn't think this through.

It's too late to take it back now, though. And if he's honest with himself, he doesn't _want_ to take it back. It might be for all the wrong reasons, but he still wants to do this.

"Okay," he says. He slides out of the chair and starts putting his trainers back on. "What's the best way to do this?"

Harry eyes him from the bed, measuring him with that cool assessing gaze that drives Eggsy crazy. Because he kind of loves that look on Harry's face – but at the same time, he wants to tear it down. He wants to do something that will make Harry's eyes go all wide and surprised, to make him gasp in shock. Anything to break through that calm, cool exterior. 

So what he _really_ wants, he supposes, is to know what exactly it will take to achieve those things.

His palms are suddenly slick with sweat; his heart is going faster. He has the most awful feeling that he's about to fuck everything up.

"Very carefully," Harry says dryly. "As you are so intent on reminding me, I was just shot in the head, after all."

"Yeah," Eggsy nods. "Sure." No matter how much he's going to enjoy this, he can't let himself forget. Harry is hurt, and this isn't about indulging his little fantasies. Later when he's alone, he can call up the memories and wank in private. For now, though, he's got to behave as Harry expects him to – like a proper gentleman.

"Then come with me," Harry says.

Like all the Kingsman agents, Harry has private rooms at HQ, but his are rarely in use, given that he resides in London. Which is fortunate for Eggsy, because that's where he's been staying ever since their return from Valentine's bunker.

It's been a weird experience. These rooms are just as elegant and tastefully furnished as Harry's home, but they lack any kind of personal touch. They might as well be a posh hotel suite. There's nothing in them to indicate what kind of man they belong to. None of Harry's collections are here, not the coins, the butterflies, the old photographs. The walls are bare, in fact, which is rather boring.

Boring isn't so bad, though. Eggsy could use a little more boring in his life. Lately things have been just a little bit _too_ crazy.

Together they walk through the facility, away from the medical wing and toward the personal quarters. Harry's gait is slow and stiff, nothing like his usual long, graceful stride. He's obviously hurting, although he won't say as much. He never does. Apparently one thing a gentleman doesn't do is bitch and moan about how he's feeling. Eggsy knows he could stand to do a little less complaining himself. He's pretty battered too, after his fight with Gazelle, although he's not feeling it nearly as much as poor Harry.

Eggsy keeps stealing little glances at him. To look at him, Harry seems perfectly fine, except for the bandage, of course. The medical report (which Eggsy wasn't supposed to read, but did anyway) says that the worst of the bruising is along his back and sides, from being shot in the church. The bespoke suit might be bulletproof, but Eggsy can personally testify that it's definitely not impact-proof. And he remembers the video from the church, the railing broken over Harry's back, Harry being thrown into the pipe organ. The doctor says it's a miracle he didn't sustain any broken ribs from it all.

What he does have, though, is an excruciating headache that won't be going away anytime soon, dizziness and vertigo, and a persistent nausea that seems to irritate Harry more than all the rest of his problems. And for the rest of his life he'll be prone to headaches during sudden drops in air pressure, things like changes in the weather, or abrupt ascents and descents in an airplane. In time, the wound on his forehead will heal. The groove in his skull will not.

But it's better, a million times better than what it could have been, by all rights _should_ have been. And Eggsy's never going to stop being grateful for that.

 _I'd rather be with Harry,_ he had said to Arthur, and he had meant it as a jab, as an insult. But the words are true, and that's something he's only just recently come to realise. Even if his dreams never come true, even if they just remain friends and fellow agents, he could be happy with that.

Just as long as he gets to be with Harry.

****

A few steps inside the rooms that technically belong to him, Harry stops dead. He looks faintly appalled. "Eggsy."

"What?" Eggsy says without thinking. Then he sees what Harry is looking at, and he flushes a little. Okay, yeah, it's kind of a mess in here, the bed unmade, yesterday's clothes tossed onto a chair, a half-eaten packet of crisps on the dresser. "Yeah, I know. But I've been bit a busy."

 _Busy worrying about you,_ he doesn't add.

"There is never an excuse to be a slob," Harry says. "A sloppy home will lead to sloppy work. And I need hardly remind you that sloppy work," and here he gives Eggsy a pointed look, "will get you killed."

Eggsy has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning. God, he missed Harry's lectures on manners.

"So, we gonna do this or what?" he asks.

"Yes," Harry says firmly. "Although first I will have a bath. Which is _not_ something I need assistance with."

Eggsy flushes bright red. He can't help it. The pictures that flood his mind just then are too much. Harry naked in the bath, long legs bent at the knee to accommodate his height, hair curling damply at the nape of his neck. Skin pearled with water, that slender but well-muscled body half submerged under the hot water. Smiling in invitation. _There's plenty of room..._

Fucking hell. And suddenly it's way too warm in here. 

The sound of the bathroom door closing startles Eggsy from his pleasant thoughts. After a few seconds, he hears water running. 

He looks around and slowly blows out his breath. "Shhhiiit." 

****

While Harry is in the bath, Eggsy cleans the room up. It doesn't take him very long, and all too soon he's left with nothing to do but sit on the bed and try very hard not to imagine what is happening in the bathroom. 

He tells himself he's not listening for the thud of a body hitting the floor. He's already seen Harry unconscious far too often over the past few days, starting with when he passed out after trying to kill Eggsy in Valentine's bunker. 

It still scares him to think about that day. He's impressed as hell by how far Harry got toward escaping, even with his injuries, but at the same time it's a little terrifying to think how close he came to losing Harry for good. It would have been a terrible irony if Harry had managed to free himself, only to be gunned down by Valentine's guards. 

"Fuck," Eggsy swears under his breath. He's gotta stop thinking about stuff like that. Harry didn't die. He's right in the next room, alive and mostly well, and at this very moment, probably very wet and naked. 

Which…really isn't much better, as far as things he's not supposed to be thinking about. Still, it's a definite improvement. 

"Eggsy?" Harry's voice is muffled by the closed door between them. 

"Yeah." He stands up and heads for the bathroom. And God, nothing has even happened yet, but already his heart is beating faster. It's thinking about what lies beyond that door that's doing it, imagining what state Harry is in right now, if he's still in the water, if he's naked, if he's— 

He opens the door. "Everything okay?" 

Harry gives him a look. "Still haven't learned how to knock, I see." 

Eggsy doesn't bother defending his ungentlemanly manners. He's too busy staring. 

Harry is out of the bath, sitting on a stool that used to be slotted neatly in between the sink and the far corner. He hasn't shaved yet, and he's wearing the dark grey dressing gown again; the rest of his clothing is neatly folded on the floor, and a wet towel is draped over the edge of the tub. The front of the dressing gown is open enough for Eggsy to see the hair curling on his chest, along with the dark bruises left by the brutal melee in the church. 

It's the most he's ever seen of Harry's body before, and the sight mesmerises him. 

"When you're ready," Harry says, sounding rather testy. 

Eggsy blinks and forces himself to stop staring. To truly see Harry right now, how pale he is, and the lines of strain around his eyes. It's only been a few days since they've been back, but already he's starting to recognise when Harry is really hurting, but trying to pretend that he's not. 

He leans against the doorframe, trying to act casual. "You sure you want to do this?" But he wants to bite his tongue as soon as he says it, because it sounds like he's thrown down a challenge instead of asking an honest question. And Harry Hart is not someone to back down from something like that. 

To his surprise, though, Harry gives him the faintest of smiles. "I think perhaps it would be best if we postpone the rest of our scheduled activities." 

Eggsy is more disappointed than he wants to admit. He was really looking forward to this. "Well," he says, trying to salvage something of the day, "what about, you know, I could do your hair." He tries hard -– and fails miserably –- not to flush again as he says it. It sounds so pathetic, so not like him. 

"I would be lying if I said I wasn't tempted," Harry says. He gestures at the dressing gown loosely belted about his waist. "I am rather disgusted with myself. But no, I'm afraid not." 

"I can do it," Eggsy says. "I did it for my mum before." 

Harry regards him curiously. "When was this?" 

"A few years ago," Eggsy says. It was actually over ten years ago, but he's not about to say that. "She went out with some friends and had too much to drink. She fell down the stairs leading to our flat." That was the story she had told him back then, and he had believed it, because he hadn't had much choice. He wonders now though, if Dean was there that night, if maybe his mum wasn't pushed down those stairs. 

"Got herself a concussion," he continues. "I had to help her wash her hair for a week." He gazes at Harry, as earnest as he's ever been. "I can do it."

Harry looks torn, obviously wanting to be clean again, but just as obviously in a lot of pain and reluctant to aggravate the matter. The silence drags out between them, and Eggsy has to stop himself from getting defensive and making his case, like he's spent most of his life doing. He's not on trial here. He's already proven himself. He just needs to be patient -– which is not exactly his strong suit. 

At last Harry sighs softly. "All right," he says. "Thank you, Eggsy." 

For an instant he's too surprised to react. It's been that way for him for as long as he can remember; those occasions when he gets what he wants are few and far between, always catching him off guard. He's quicker to recover this time, though, and he steps into the bathroom, ready to take charge. 

He already knows how to make this happen. That's something Kingsman didn't have to teach him; he's always been able to quickly size up a situation and know what he needs to do next. Now he opens the linen closet, pulls out a stack of towels, and hands them over to Harry. Before Harry can ask what he intends, he goes back into the bedroom and yanks the pillows off the bed. He returns to the bathroom with both of them clutched to his chest. "Okay?" 

Harry doesn't nod; he's at that point where he's barely moving his head at all, trying to keep the pain down to tolerable levels. But he obviously gets it, because he eases off the stool and he sets the towels down on the floor, right where Eggsy wanted. 

It takes some time to get situated, to get Harry sitting on the floor in front of the tub, leaning back so his head is resting on a towel folded over the rim. Eggsy fusses with the pillows at Harry's back, wanting to give him enough support without hurting him; the bruising on his back is so bad that Harry can't lie flat comfortably, even on the soft Kingsman mattresses. But at last they get it sorted out, and Eggsy straightens up and draws in a deep breath. "All right then?" 

Harry makes a quiet humming sound. Despite Eggsy's best efforts, he looks rather distressed; his hands clutch each other across his chest, and his eyes are tightly shut. The front of his dressing gown has got loose from all that moving around, exposing more of his chest, and his legs are uncovered from the knees down. Eggsy tries hard not to look at his bare feet, his slender ankles, the long muscles of his calves. 

Now is not the time, he tells himself firmly. Later. Not now. Definitely not now. 

He turns on the tap, then goes over to the sink and takes up the glass he's been using when he brushes his teeth in the mornings. He rinses it out, then brings it over to the tub and sits on the rim. He holds two fingers beneath the water, testing the temperature, and it's perfect, warm without being too hot. 

"Okay," Eggsy says. He fills the glass from the tap, then hesitates. 

He has to be very careful now. He can't get that bandage on Harry's forehead wet. He has to remember not to jostle Harry's head too much and hurt him further. And he has to keep his mind on what he's doing and not get distracted by things like the way Harry's throat works as he swallows, his head tipped back and his eyes closed. 

It's an astonishing display of trust from a man who almost certainly doesn't trust easily –- and yet he trusted Eggsy right from the start, even when he had absolutely no reason to. Harry had just met him, but had trusted him when Eggsy said he could keep his mouth shut about what had happened in the Black Prince. The fact that it was a test doesn't change the fact that Harry had decided to take a chance on him. And once he had agreed to try for the open position in Kingsman, Harry had all but adopted him. None of the other candidates had been that close to their mentors. Not one of them. 

That trust awes Eggsy, but it also makes him kind of uncomfortable. He doesn't quite know what to do with it. Pretty much everyone in his life stopped trusting him right around the time he turned eleven and got caught shoplifting for the first time. 

But Harry trusts him. Always has. 

And if there's one thing Eggsy is sure of, it's that he's never going to do anything to make Harry regret his choice. 

Gently he sets the heel of his hand on Harry's forehead at his hairline, to keep any water from running down and wetting the bandage. He tips the glass and pours the warm water onto Harry's hair. 

Harry doesn't make a sound. 

Eggsy works carefully, but with as much speed as he dares. He knows this position isn't comfortable, that Harry is already hurting. The quicker he can be done, the easier it will go for Harry. 

But he can't help wanting to drag things out a little. He's fantasised about getting to do this, running his hands through Harry's hair, those thick locks that fall out of their careful styling when he's in less than perfect control. He really, really hopes he'll get to do this again someday, under better circumstances. 

He works the shampoo in, fingertips pushing lightly at Harry's scalp, making sure he doesn't miss a spot. He watches Harry's face closely, looking for any sign that the pain is getting worse, that he needs to hurry it up. Instead, though, Harry utters a low groan of satisfaction –- a sound that goes right to Eggsy's groin. 

_Shit,_ that isn't cool, and he quickly shifts on the tub, angling his lower body away from where Harry sits so patiently. 

He starts rinsing the shampoo out, carding his fingers through Harry's hair, making sure he gets it all. He goes as quickly as he can now, watching the way Harry's hands grip each other tightly enough to whiten his knuckles. There's a healing cut down the back of Harry's right hand, and another one that crosses the middle three fingers of his left hand. They are the hands of a trained killer, a fact Eggsy will never be able to forget. 

After all, his hands are the same. 

He finishes with the rinse and sets the glass down. He picks up a towel and gently presses it to Harry's head, trying to absorb the heaviest water. "Okay then?" 

"Yes," Harry breathes instantly. He swallows hard, then winces. 

Eggsy removes the towel and makes another snap decision. He sets his right hand on Harry's back, up high between his shoulder blades. "Up you go," he says, and pushes. 

Harry doesn't bristle defensively that he doesn't need help sitting up. He doesn't try to pull away from Eggsy's hand. He simply lets Eggsy manhandle him upright, and he makes a choked noise in the back of his throat, his face tight with pain. 

"Sorry," Eggsy says, and he really means it. "Sorry, Harry." 

Harry doesn't answer. He just sits there, breathing heavily through clenched jaws, his eyes still closed. The grey dressing gown gapes open now, and Eggsy can see a dark ring of bruises wrapped around his right side, following the curve of his ribcage. 

The sight is enough to put a damper on his arousal, and make him feel disgusted with himself. Harry is hurt. Eggsy's got no business perving on him right now. 

"Thank you," Harry says quietly. "That's much better." 

Eggsy nods and says, "You're welcome." 

"Ah," Harry says. He smiles that fond little smile he seems to reserve only for Eggsy. "You _can_ be taught." 

"Yeah, but only by the best," Eggsy says with a smirk. 

Harry looks sidelong at Eggsy. "Nonsense." He almost sounds like his brisk usual self again. "You don't give yourself enough credit. That's part of your problem." 

Eggsy stands up and holds out his hand. "Maybe, but I still hurt you." 

Harry eyes his outstretched hand. "At this point, that's unfortunately unavoidable," he says. He stands up on his own. It's more an awkward lurch than anything, a move lacking all his usual grace, but he accomplishes it all the same, requiring no help at all. 

"You did your best," Harry says, "and that's all I could ever ask." He's wobbly on his feet, and very pale, but his gaze is clear. "I am very proud of you, Eggsy. I should have told you that sooner. I'm sorry I didn't." 

Eggsy doesn't really know what to say to that. He thinks about the row they had in Harry's house after his dismissal from Kingsman, and Harry saying, _I'll sort this mess out when I get back._ Except for a while it had looked like there wasn't ever going to be a _when I get back,_ because Harry was shot, and Eggsy spent an agonising eternity thinking he was dead. 

He thinks about all the regrets he had after watching Harry die. Wishing he had said certain things, wishing he hadn't said others. Wishing for just one more chance to see Harry again, so he could get it right his time. 

Call it a twist of fate or just pure luck, but they've been given their second chance. And it makes something ache in Eggsy's chest to realise that he isn't the only one who wants to make the most of it. 

It's not the kind of thing he can talk about though. Not just yet. Probably not ever. So he says, "We should probably get back, yeah?" 

"No," Harry declares. "I am through with being in hospital, and I have decided to discharge myself." He looks at Eggsy, daring him to protest. 

This is fine with Eggsy, though. He's tired of seeing Harry in a hospital bed, too. First the coma, and now this. Sometimes he thinks he's spent more time watching Harry sleep than he has actually being mentored by him. So now he just shrugs. "Okay." 

Harry adjusts his dressing gown, pulling it tight against his body and re-tying the sash. Together they walk into the bedroom, Harry moving slowly, obviously worn out by the day's activity. "However," he says, and stops. "I must admit that I am not quite ready to return home just yet. I wonder if I might—" 

"Stay here with me," Eggsy offers, just as Harry finishes, 

"—stay here with you." 

They look at each other. These rooms belong to Harry, but he just asked permission to stay here rather than rudely evict Eggsy. Because he is first and foremost a gentleman. Because he wants to make sure this is all right with Eggsy. 

But that's not what makes Eggsy's pulse start to race. It's the fact that Harry said _with you._

If the rumours are true, Harry will be the next Arthur, the next leader of Kingsman. Harry Hart, who survived getting shot in the head, who chose Eggsy once, who chooses him still, apparently. 

_With you._

Harry gazes calmly at him, waiting on his response. Even wearing nothing but a bathrobe, there's a quiet dignity about him Eggsy knows he'll never be able to match. The bandage on his forehead is starkly white; it didn't get wet at all. His hair is surprisingly curly now that it's clean and not rigidly parted and gelled in place. Eggsy likes it, is reminded all over again of his hope that someday when things are better, he'll get to run his fingers through it. He wants to hear Harry make that groan of contentment again, and know that he's the one who caused it. 

He knows what he has to do then. Knows that he can't let this chance pass them by. Knows that if he doesn't, Harry never will. Harry who's so determined to play by the rules that he just asked if he could be allowed to stay in his own rooms. 

"You don't have to ask," he says. "I was always yours." 

He leans in and he kisses Harry. 

It's not much of a kiss at first. Eggsy's heart is in his throat, and he's terrified he's just ruined everything. Harry is clearly startled, but after his initial reaction, he doesn't pull away. He doesn't really kiss back either, though. He just lets Eggsy press his lips to his, sweet and chaste. 

And that's it, then. Eggsy knows now that it's only him. Harry doesn't think of him like that. Harry doesn't want him back. 

He steps backward. "Sorry," he mutters. 

Harry stares at him with those soft brown eyes. "Are you sure, Eggsy?" he asks. "Are you very sure?" 

Eggsy doesn't even blink. "Yes," he says. "Fuck, yes." 

"Well," Harry says, "I think that might have to wait a bit," and there's no way Eggsy heard that right. 

"But this," Harry says. "Yes." And then he's kissing Eggsy. 

Harry is a great kisser. Eggsy has time to think that much, before rational thought goes right out the window. 

Harry's lips are strong. His mouth is warm. He kisses Eggsy with the same intense focus he applies to everything else he does. And in this, at least, he is definitely _not_ a gentleman. He takes what he wants without hesitation, using the advantage of his greater height to tip Eggsy's head back. One hand rises to touch Eggsy's face, long fingers cradling the curve of his skull. 

Eggsy moans into Harry's open mouth and clutches at him. He gets only a handful of dressing gown at first before latching onto Harry's arm. He sways forward, wanting more contact between them, wanting to feel Harry pressed up against him. 

And still Harry kisses him, Harry's mouth covering his, their lips slick and wet. The stubble on Harry's chin rasps at Eggsy's skin, heightening his sensitivity, driving him wild. He reaches for Harry with his other hand, and Harry slides an arm around him, pulling him still closer. Harry's tongue is in his mouth, tasting him, teasing him, and Eggsy moans again, and isn't even a little bit embarrassed by the sound he makes. 

They break apart, and Harry is breathing hard, and so is Eggsy. He opens his eyes in time to see Harry lean in again. God, Harry is insatiable, that mouth of his, and the thought of everything that waits in their future, all the things they're going to get to do together, makes him happier than he's ever been. Because he'd thought he had lost Harry, but instead he found him, and nothing's ever going to be the same again. 

Harry pulls away, his breath hot on Eggsy's lips. His eyes are dark now, his skin flushed. He mouths at Eggsy's lower lip, then downward to the line of his jaw, nipping at the skin there, applying just enough pressure with his teeth to let Eggsy know that he's deliberately holding back. Eggsy catches his breath, and then Harry licks the same spot, and it's like fire running through his veins, sizzling through his body to pool in the pit of his stomach. 

He reaches up, wanting to feel Harry, to run his fingers through that thick hair, and instead bumps his hand against the white bandage over Harry's forehead. 

Harry jerks back with a muffled exclamation. He lets go of Eggsy, one hand flying up to hover just over his forehead, not quite touching. 

"Oh fuck," Eggsy cries. "Harry, I'm so sorry! Fuck!" 

Harry doesn't say anything. He's rigid with pain, gone white as a sheet. Eggsy stares helplessly at the bandage, dreading the sight of that first telltale spot of red -– but it doesn't come. Either he didn't hit Harry as hard as he thought he did, or the horrible gash left by the bullet is starting to heal. 

"I'm sorry," he says again. "I'm so sorry." 

"Yes, I know," Harry says tightly. He sounds irritated all over again. "One apology is enough, Eggsy." 

"Sor—" Eggsy starts to say, then catches himself. He settles for staring glumly at the bandage, still not quite daring to believe that the wound isn't bleeding, that he hasn't managed to set Harry's recovery back with his clumsiness. 

"It's all right," Harry says. "I suppose it was bound to happen at some point." Slowly he lowers his hand. Eggsy watches, and has the sudden urge to wrap his hand around Harry's slender wrist and capture his hand. He wants to close his mouth over those long fingers and taste them, suck on them, stare up into Harry's eyes and watch them turn stormy dark again. 

"And after all," Harry says, and now he's sort of smiling, "we were rather preoccupied at the time." 

And it hits Eggsy all of a sudden what they were just doing. What it really means. He looks at Harry, with his mouth still wet and red, and he feels the heated moisture on his own lips. He thinks of Harry asking if he was sure, and it's like everything suddenly clicks into place. 

"Wait," he says. "How long have you… I mean, this _is_ what I'm thinking it is, innit?" 

"Well, that depends," Harry says, "on what you're thinking." 

Exasperated, confused, and yet stupidly happy, Eggsy just grins at him. 

Harry smiles back, a small, tired smile, but it seems clear that he's just as pleased by this turn of events. Eggsy likes that he remains kind of reserved even now. He likes knowing that it takes more than a first kiss to make Harry Hart grin like an idiot. He likes hoping that someday he'll figure out the magic formula to make it happen. 

That's one challenge he's absolutely ready for. 

"So what happens now?" he asks. 

"What happens now," Harry says, "is that you tell Merlin I've discharged myself from the infirmary and that I intend to stay here tonight, then go home tomorrow." 

"Oh," Eggsy says, not having expected such a swift return to more practical matters. 

"After I leave, I expect you to remain here," Harry says. "I don't know when a formal decision will be made regarding your future with Kingsman, but you will do yourself no favors if you leave right when they need you most." 

"Need me?" Eggsy scoffs. "No one's even told me what's going on out there. Roxy hasn't called since she left. Even Merlin acts like I'm a nobody." 

Harry sighs. "We will deal with all that later, I promise you. But for right now, just do as I ask, Eggsy." 

"Right," Eggsy says. He trusts Harry to keep his word, but he can't help feeling profoundly disappointed. After everything that's happened today, it just feels wrong to go back to the same old boring routine. 

"And when you're done," Harry says, "please come back here." He smiles. "I think it's well past time that you and I had a little talk." 

That sounds a lot better, and Eggsy brightens. "All right," he says, and wonders just how much talking they'll do, and how much kissing. And then he's grinning again, shaking his head. "Galahad," he says. "The purest knight of them all. I guess someone didn't do their homework when they gave you that code name, yeah?" 

Harry gives him a surprised look, like when Eggsy let on that he knew all about _My Fair Lady._ "Oh, so you've read about Arthur and the knights who set out on the grail quest." 

"No," Eggsy says. "I looked it up on Wikipedia." 

Harry doesn't roll his eyes, but Eggsy can tell he wants to. Badly. 

The thought makes him smile all the while he's off on his errand to find Merlin and deliver the news about Harry. Merlin doesn't seem all that surprised to hear it, but then again, it's hard to be completely sure, he's so good at keeping a straight face. 

All told, Eggsy is gone maybe twenty minutes. Half an hour at the most. It's long enough, though, because when he gets back, Harry is in bed, soundly asleep. 

Eggsy stands in the doorway and watches him for a long moment. He smiles fondly, a rush of warm affection stealing over him. Harry looks like the world's biggest kid who tried to stay up late and only ended up falling asleep. He's dressed now in khakis and a white button-down, but his feet are still bare. He's half-sitting, half-reclining against the pillows at his back that prop him up. It's almost certainly not a comfortable position for him with his injuries, and Eggsy feels a pang go through him to realise that Harry was sitting up like this on purpose, waiting for him to come back. 

He should go now, before he accidentally wakes Harry. But he lingers for a while longer. He just wants to look. To know that this amazing man is really here, with him, _with him._

The state of the world might be pretty bleak right now, but Eggsy's future has never been brighter. Smiling a little, he turns to go. 

"Eggsy." 

Crap. He winces, then turns around. "I didn't mean to wake you." 

"No, it's all right," Harry says. His voice is roughened by sleep, not at all his usual crisp tones. He looks at Eggsy for a moment, then he extends a hand. 

Eggsy doesn't hesitate. As Harry sits up and pulls the pillows out from behind his back, Eggsy kicks off his trainers and comes over to sit on the bed. 

This time when they kiss it's slow and sweet. Harry's hand cups his face again, thumb lightly brushing along his cheek, sending little shivery tingles all through him. He still can't really believe all this is happening, that Harry is touching him this way, that he gets to touch Harry back, that they are in bed together, actually kissing. 

And someday, hopefully soon, doing a lot more than just kissing. 

Harry gives him one last kiss, then pulls back, letting his hand drop. "Well?" 

"Um." For a moment Eggsy doesn't get it. Then he remembers. "Yeah, I talked to Merlin. You're good to go." 

"Excellent," Harry says.

"You should go back to sleep," Eggsy says. He knows Harry hasn't been sleeping well. He hasn't either, for that matter. Every time he closes his eyes he's either back there in the bunker, fighting for his life while surrounded by gore and dead bodies, or far worse, witnessing that moment all over again when that single gunshot from Valentine nearly destroyed everything. 

"Yes, I suppose I should," Harry says, but it's obvious that he doesn't mean it. It's his polite gentleman's voice, agreeing with his host because he's supposed to. 

"I could stay," Eggsy offers, because he doesn't really want to leave anyway. 

Harry appears to consider this, which is pretty funny because Eggsy knows damn well that there's no reason to pretend anymore. He's going to enjoy this, he thinks, finding out how to breach that wall of gentlemanly manners Harry surrounds himself with. If a bespoke suit is modern day armour, then he can't wait to peel it off and see what the knight inside is really like. 

"Yes, all right," Harry says with such decisiveness that Eggsy can't help but grin. 

"What?" Harry says, eyeing him with suspicion. 

"Nothing," Eggsy says, far too innocent. "I was just thinking." 

That earns him one of Harry's exasperated looks, which only makes Eggsy feel even happier. He stretches out on the bed and watches as Harry does the same, moving slower and with care. Once Harry's finally settled, on his back in spite of the discomfort it causes him, he turns his head on the pillow and he smiles that fond smile at Eggsy, the one that's always made strange things happen in Eggsy's chest. 

Eggsy smiles back and rolls onto his left side, the better to keep an eye on Harry. He wastes a few moments arguing with himself about whether or not he's going to do it, and then he reaches out a hand. 

Harry takes it immediately, clasps his hand about Eggsy's, then rests them both on his chest. 

And yeah, that's good. This way he can feel the steady rise and fall of Harry's chest. This way even if he dreams those awful dreams again, he'll know for sure that this right here is what's really happening, that Harry is here with him and not lying dead outside some blood-soaked church. 

They don't speak. Harry is obviously exhausted, and it isn't long at all before he's asleep again. Eggsy shifts down and a little bit closer, angling himself so he can press his forehead against Harry's right shoulder. 

After a while he feels his eyelids start to grow heavy. He thinks he might actually sleep a little bit, too. 

Next to him, Harry sleeps on. Eggsy smiles a little to himself and closes his eyes. 


End file.
